


Songs of the Dead

by Annaekro



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: College of Winterhold - Freeform, F/M, Khajiit - Freeform, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:25:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5800684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annaekro/pseuds/Annaekro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skyrim, 4E 202.  Alduin the World-Eater has been vanquished.  High Queen Elisif sits on the throne, and the Stormcloak rebellion is no more.  The Last Dragonborn appeared, spared the world from destruction, and restored a measure of peace to the harsh, war-weary land of Skyrim.  And then, mysteriously, he vanished.</p><p>But deep within the frozen earth, a centuries-old curse awakens.  The dead rise up, spreading a plague that defies all hope of a cure.  A band of unlikely heroes must now take up arms and unravel a web of ancient magic, prophecy, and deceit...before Skyrim and the rest of Tamriel is lost forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

"I can't _believe_ I let you talk me into this," Onmund muttered, pulling off his rain-drenched hood. It landed on the carriage seat with a wet slap. He picked up the only dry thing he could find, an empty burlap sack, and draped it over his head.

“What a fuss you make over a little water! You'd think someone was drowning you back there.”  Nikhaya shifted the reins to one hand and rummaged through her satchel until she found an apple.  She tossed it to Onmund, snorting with laughter at the sight of his makeshift rain hat.  ”Here, eat breakfast.  It will cheer you up.  And keep watching for guards.”

”I’m watching, I’m watching.”  Onmund rubbed the apple on his damp robes and took a huge bite.  ”But if we get caught, Nikhaya-”

”We will not be caught if you keep your eyes peeled like this one told you.”

The old carriage creaked and groaned over the wet cobblestones.   If any guards were patrolling the road between Dawnstar and Winterhold that morning, they would certainly have a question or two, for this particular carriage was an unusual sight.

For one thing, it was being driven by a Khajiit.  She was clad in leather armor and an apprentice mage's hood, and her pale green eyes were alive with the glow of health and naturally high spirits.  Occasionally she produced a bottle of mead and took a swig or two to supplement those spirits.

But the real spectacle was in the back, for the carriage’s owner was slumped on the floor there, unconscious and partly buried under sacks and straw.  Onmund sat beside him, his apple in one hand and a soggy, useless map in the other.  At his feet lay the box.

It was a long, narrow thing, black with mildew, as if it had been rotting in some dank cave for a few centuries.  A peculiar odor of musty cloth and old parchment permeated the air around it, but neither Onmund nor Nikhaya had remarked upon it.  After months of living and studying at the College of Winterhold, it practically smelled like home.

”Nikhaya knows what to do.  We will sing one of your Nord songs.  That will help to pass the time in the carriage, yes?”

”I really wish you wouldn’t.”

”But it will be fun!  Khajiit will sing the first part, and you can do the next bit.”  She cleared her throat.  ”Ohhhhhh....there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red...”

Onmund threw his apple core into the road and shot her a dirty look.

Nikhaya shrugged and felt around by her feet for the bottle of mead.  ”Ah, well.  At least it’s a nice day out.”

”It’s _raining_.  A lot.”

”Of course, but the world smells so...delicious when it rains. Don’t you think? Besides, a day without snow is as fine a day as you can ask for in Skyrim.”

”Hmph.”

They rode on in silence. The sky had lightened considerably since they'd broken camp at dawn, but the day was still gray and chilly and, in Onmund's opinion, far too wet to be going anywhere. Nikhaya hummed the bards' song to herself - a local favorite, so they claimed - and patted her pockets in search of a snack.

"Why won't you tell me what's in the box?”

Nikhaya chuckled. "Aha, so that is what is bothering you. What you have a...what is it...a bee under your hat for.”

"A bee in your bonnet. And no, I'm bothered by all of this!  'Follow me, I need your help', you said, and being the good friend that I am, I did everything you asked.  I hired the carriage, I rode all the way out to that awful crypt to meet you.  But you never said anything about beating an innocent man to death and stealing his carriage from him!”

"He's not dead." Nikhaya produced a handful of gourd seeds and popped one into her mouth.  She chewed thoughtfully. "Is he?"

"What? No! I mean..." Onmund leaned over the unconscious man.  "I don't know. He hasn't moved in a long time."

"Hm.  Kick him and see what he does.”

”That’s horrible!”

Onmund stretched out his foot and gently prodded the carriage driver with his boot. The bound man groaned and fell over behind the box.

”Alive?”

”Yeah.”

"Good. Give him another whack on the head if he starts coming around before we get to Winterhold. And take that silly sack off your head. You look like this one's mad old grandmother.”

Onmund heaved an exasperated sigh.  ”Stop putting me off.  I want to know what’s in the box.  What are you up to?  Why all this secrecy?”

"You should have more faith, friend. Khajiit _is_ your friend, no?"

”Yes...”

"This one faced many dangers to recover your family treasure from Enthir."

"I _know_ , I know you did, and I'm grateful. It's just..."

”Hm?”  Nikhaya offered him the bottle of mead.

He shook his head.  "Well, it's just like you said. You do dangerous things for people sometimes. Crazy things! There could be anything in this box, knowing you." He started ticking off possibilities one by one on his fingers. "Dangerous weapons, skooma...it better _not_ be skooma...stolen goods..."

Nikhaya nodded sagely. "Dead Stormcloaks, wooden ladles, a thousand angry bees..."

"I'm not talking to you anymore if you're going to make fun of me."

She faced forward, unable to hide the grin on her feline face.  ”Onmund, my friend, this one is sorry for her bad joke.  It was good of you to help.  As for what is in the box, it is for Enthir."

Onmund snorted. "Enthir. I should have known he would be mixed up in this. What is it?"

Nikhaya was quiet for a moment. "He needed a specimen," she replied. "For his research. He asked this one to fetch it for him."

"A specimen." Onmund's face was utterly blank.

"Yes. He needed a fresh one. A live one, that is. Well, somewhat live..."

"Right. That's it. I am getting out of the carriage this instant and walking back to Whiterun if you don't tell me what's in here!" He gave it a vicious kick for emphasis and immediately winced. "Ouch."

A furious guttural growl issued from the box. Onmund cried out and leapt to his feet, nearly catapulting himself out of the carriage.  The box's inhabitant scratched at the inside of its prison, croaking in anger at its captors through the wood. Nikhaya didn't speak a word of ancient Nord, but she fancied she knew a stream of profanity when she heard one.

She groaned. "Onmund, why? You've woken it up!"

Onmund was trembling...was it fear? Rage?  Nikhaya thought she smelled both.  He swayed rigidly where he stood as she drew the carriage to a stop. Lightning crackled over his clenched fists.

”Onmund, listen-”

"A draugr? You brought one of those... _monsters_...out of its crypt? For what? Are you insane, Nikhaya?!"

She turned to face him. Her eyes had lost all of their sparkle; she was now somber, subdued.

"Enthir made this one swear to keep quiet," Nikhaya murmured, "but really, what is the point? If the elf can't find a cure, or at least some answers, all of Skyrim will know before long."

"What are you talking about? A cure for what?"

"Please sit down," she pleaded. "Khajiit will tell you everything, right this very moment, but you must calm yourself first. Can you do this?"

Slowly, Onmund sat. He leveled a razor sharp gaze at Nikhaya. "Well then. Talk." His face was still flushed with anger, but the shock spell had vanished from his hands. "This had better be good."

Nikhaya nodded. She took a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

"Something terrible is happening," she said.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hold on.  Before I begin…”  Nikhaya dug around in her satchel and produced a bottle of ale.   She held it out to Onmund.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re such a drunk. How much of that stuff are you hiding in there?”

“This one is for you.”

Onmund took it from her and tossed it into the straw pile.  “I don’t drink.  And you’ve had enough.  Now start explaining.”

“You don’t drink?  What, not at all?”  She stared at him, mouth open, as though he’d just claimed horkers could fly.  “You _are_ a strange one.  But you might change your mind after you hear this.”

“Nikhaya, please!  Tell me what’s going on!”

“Fine, fine.”  She climbed into the back of the carriage and sat down on the bench.  “Where to begin, though...you know that man, Kraldar?  He lives in Winterhold, in the house next to the College. Nice fellow, friends with the Archmage.  His housecarl, Thonjolf, was found dead outside of town last Morndas.”

“I heard about that. Sabre cats, the guards thought, or wolves.  They said he was all chewed up when they found him.”  Onmund shook his head.   “Poor man.  That’s an awful way to go.”

“Yes, well…nobody is too sure that Thonjolf was killed by animals anymore.”  There was nobody around to overhear them, but Nikhaya leaned closer and hushed her voice anyway.  “The same guard who found Thonjolf’s body last week…he found him again, three days later, shambling around outside of Winterhold.”

Onmund considered this. A furrow of doubt creased his forehead. “But how?  The man was dead and buried, wasn’t he?”

Nikhaya nodded.  “As you say, dead and buried.  But naturally they went to Thonjolf’s grave after he was found the second time, and it was empty.  Dug out from the inside…and there he was, plain as day, limping around with one arm missing and half his face chewed off.”

“I don’t believe it,” he muttered.

"You are not a very good liar, Jo'mund."  She picked up his abandoned ale, popped the cork out with expert claws, and held it out to him.  He took it willingly this time.  “Khajiit was not there, of course, but Phinis Gestor, the Conjuration master, he saw the grave and the body with his own eyes.  And have you ever known _that_ humorless old stick to tell a tall tale?”

“So it was necromancy, then.  Some conjuror made a thrall out of him.  But why?”

“He was no thrall,” she said quietly.  “Phinis and Enthir inspected the man’s remains.  No sign of any reanimation spells.  Phinis said that such magic always leave a detectable trace of the spell behind.  It was as if Thonjolf became a zombie from the inside out.” 

“That’s not how it works!  People don’t just rise from the dead on their own.”   Onmund tried a sip of ale and made a face.  “Ugh. Look, I don’t think you’re lying to me, but what you’re telling me doesn’t make any sense.”

Nikhaya shrugged.  “This one studies Illusion and Alteration.  She doesn’t know the first thing about raising the dead.  Nikhaya only tells you what she heard.”

“But this man, Thonjolf.  Is he actually dead now?”

 She nodded.  “When Thonjolf saw the guard, he attacked…howled like a dying animal and started biting at his armor, trying to tear chunks out of him.  The guard put a sword through his head and he collapsed.  He hasn’t gotten up.  Yet.”

Onmund’s face paled.  “He tried to _eat_ the guard?”

“So he says.  Thonjolf was eating a wolf when he was discovered.  Tore its belly open and was gnawing on its…well, that part isn’t important,” she continued hastily as Onmund clapped a hand over his mouth and waved at her to shut up.  “The thing is, he was dead the whole time, and...” 

Nikhaya trailed off, wishing she hadn't dropped the 'and'.  He pounced on it.

“And what?  Don't you start keeping things from me now."

She sighed.  “This one has said too much already, but you might as well know.  Thonjolf…he was not the only one.  Since he was found, there have been others.”

Onmund was silent.  He laced his fingers together and began cracking his knuckles one by one, a habit of his when something was bothering him.  Nikhaya had plenty more to tell, but the troubled, far-away look on his face...even she could see it was time to hold her tongue.

She laid a gentle hand on his sleeve, watching with interest as a blush crept into his cheeks. "You see now why doing this for Enthir is so important.  And why it must be kept quiet.  We don't want to start a panic, but we must find out what is happening to these people.”

He nodded.  “Don’t worry about me.  It's just...I'm not sure what to think. Right now I just want to go home.”

“Then we shall go.  And...we will be fine, friend. Whatever happens, we will stick together.”  She nudged him with her shoulder until a faint smile appeared on his lips.  “Onmund and Nikhaya. What do you say?”

“I’m not sure if I should be happy or terrified by that.”  He gulped down a mouthful of ale and screwed up his face in disgust.  “Gods, how do you drink this stuff?  It tastes like it was brewed in someone’s shoes.”

Nikhaya laughed. “All ale tastes like that.  You’ll get used to it.”  She stood up.  “Come on, friend.  Let’s go.”

**********

Nikhaya had seen much of Tamriel in her thirty-five years.  She’d traveled as a nomad across the vast deserts of Elsweyr and Hammerfell, their glory days buried in the sand along with their treasures and curses.  She’d glimpsed colossal trees in Valenwood that held entire villages of furtive, friendly wood elves.  She’d tasted the rich grandeur of the Imperial City and the endless fertile warmth of the Summerset Isle.   Skyrim was her home now, and she knew it well, from the golden forests and fisheries of Riften to the city of stone, Markarth, built by the dwarves in a bygone age.

No place she had ever been was as harsh or as lonely as Winterhold.

What was left of it, anyway.  These days Winterhold was nothing but a few hardy buildings permanently frosted with snow, huddled together on the edge of a broken cliff.  Abandoned husks that had once been homes stood among them like ghosts, and if one were to walk along the frozen shore below, the remains of buildings grand and ancient could still be seen, shattered and sunk into the sea; grim reminders of the fate that had fallen here eighty years before.  Far above the town, held apart from the world by a crumbling bridge that twisted and turned, rose the dark stone towers of the College of Winterhold.

Dismal as it was, though, Winterhold was home, and Nikhaya was relieved to see it again.

She and Onmund huddled together on the seat, draped in a blanket of furs.  She kept one hand on the reins and the other firmly around Onmund’s waist; he’d followed the morning’s ale with three bottles of Black-Briar mead, and each time the carriage struck a bump he swayed alarmingly to one side.

“This one wonders now if that was the best place to leave the driver,” she thought aloud.

“Pah!  To Oblivion with the driver.”  Onmund chucked his empty bottle into the snow.  “That foolish Nord…he was a Nord, right?”

“He looked like one.”

“Figures.  Damned Nords.  Lemme tell you something.  Nords…”  He shook a finger at her.   “Nords can be bastards.  Especially if they’re drunk.  Which is always.”

Nikhaya refrained from commenting.

“B'sides...there were people back there. Where we dumped him off.  Right?  They’ll help him, those...what're they called?”

“Bandits?”

“Yeah.”

Nikhaya snorted. “Oh, they will take care of him, Khajiit has no doubt about that.  But look here, we are almost home. How good it is to be back!  This one is cold all the way to her bones, and you have had a bit too much to drink.”

“N’i’m fine.  Nikhaya?”

“Yes?”

He stared blankly into the distance, trying to catch hold of his thoughts again.  “I like traveling with you,” he said finally.

Nikhaya laughed, shaking her head.  “This one is glad to know you, Onmund.  You are delightful company.   Even when you are sober.”

“Why thank you.”  He tried to affect a mock bow and nearly tumbled headfirst out of the carriage.  Nikhaya caught him by the robes and yanked him back.

_“Halt!”_

A Winterhold guard stepped up to the carriage, torch in hand.  It was impossible to make out a face behind the helmet, but Nikhaya could imagine the surly expression underneath.  She raised herself up on the carriage seat with as much dignity as she could muster, considering that Onmund was now slumping over into her lap.

“You had better be here on official business, cat.  Winterhold is closed to travelers, by order of the Jarl.”

“We are with the College,”  Nikhaya replied.  Her tail flicked with annoyance at the word ‘cat’.  “And we must return immediately.  May we pass, please?”

“Huh.”  The guard regarded them for a moment, then walked around to the back of the carriage, holding her torch over the contents.  _By all the gods and daedra,_ Nikhaya prayed, _don’t let her trifle with that box._

“What’s in here?”  The guard tapped on the lid. Mercifully its contents remained quiet.

“Nothing of any interest.  Food, supplies.”  Nikhaya reached into her pocket and gathered a handful of gold coins, clinking them together in her palm.  “We have been on the road for many days now, and you must be very busy.  This humble Khajiit does not wish to trouble you any further.”

The guard grunted, but the gold changed hands all the same.  “Go on.  They’re waiting for you.  But don't you start any trouble, understand?  Nobody here wants any of your weird magic.”  She gestured at Onmund with her torch.  “And get that one inside.  He looks three sheets to the wind to me.”

“This one is most grateful.”Nikhaya smiled as she drove on, one of those peculiar Khajiit smiles that outdo even the most sincere verbal threat.   _Bitch._  The guard was right, though; a group of cold and disgruntled mages with an empty cart waited at the foot of the bridge, stamping their feet and holding fire spells in their hands. 

“Here they come!  They’re back!”  Tolfdir’s voice was nearly lost in the wind as he hurried out to meet them.  The old Nord wizard offered Nikhaya his hand and helped her out of the carriage. “Thank the Nine.  We were beginning to worry.  But here you are…safe and sound, I hope?”

“More or less.”  Nikhaya inclined her head toward Onmund.  She made a bottle-tipping motion with her hand, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue for emphasis.

“Ah, I see...not all sound, but perfectly safe.  Well, that’s the important part.  Colette, Drevis, bring that cart over here, will you?”

“But how are we going to get it over the bridge?”  Colette Marence, the Restoration master, folded her arms tightly over her chest and shivered.  “There’s that broken part at the top, you know. _I'm_ not carrying it all the way up to the Archmage’s quarters.”  She cast a shrewd eye over the carriage.  “And where in Oblivion did you get this thing, anyway?”

Nikhaya opened her mouth, but Tolfdir held up a hand.  “We won’t get into that right now.  Let’s get this inside to Enthir.  We'll just have to push it up the bridge into the courtyard and figure out what to do with it there.  Do you need a hand down, Onmund?”

Onmund shook his head, one hand clutching his stomach.  He looked somber now, and slightly green.  “Not yet.”

“Khajiit told you to take it easy!  Perhaps next time you will listen!  Speaking of the carriage, though...”  Nikhaya caught sight of Ranmir heading across the street to the Frozen Hearth and began waving her arms in the air.  “Ranmir!” she shouted. “Just the man we need. Over here!”

Ranmir stopped and squinted at them, holding a hand over his eyes to shield them from the snow.  “Oh, it’s _you_ people.  Whadya _want?”_

“This one has a proposal for you, friend.  Whiterun Hold needs a new carriage driver.  Do you want the job?  Khajiit has done it for days and can assure you, you will not need to be sober.”

He shrugged.  “You know what? If it gets me out of this shi-“

“Perfect.  The carriage is yours now, on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“Help me get Onmund out of it first.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re back!” Brelyna Maryon grinned. She dropped an armload of books on Nikhaya’s table and flopped down on the end of her bed. “About time you showed up. I haven’t had anyone to talk to but J’zargo for the past five days.”

“Ha. This one is sorry to hear it.” Nikhaya sat cross-legged on the floor and began unpacking her satchel. She took a deep sniff and wrinkled her nose. “Tell me, though. How long has it smelt of old vegetables in here?”

“Oh, that.” Brelyna sighed. “That was J’zargo. He was working on a new spell scroll while you were away. It didn’t go well. The Scroll of Confusion, he called it.”

“Confusion? Smells more like a Scroll of Cabbage Farts to me.”

Brelyna snorted. “You don’t know the half of it. He had us all running out of here. Ancano threatened to turn him into a skeever if he set off any more of them. Tolfdir had to confiscate the rest and lock them away somewhere.”

“What a shame we missed all of that excitement.” Nikhaya's joints cracked audibly as she stood up and stretched her snowy white arms over her head. “It feels so good to be warm and dry again! The open road is not as kind to this one as it used to be.”

“Oh, come on. You talk like you're two hundred years old!"

Nikhaya laughed. "Thirty-five feels like two hundred some days, you know."

"That's not even  _close_ to old. Skyrim isn’t a kind place for any traveler, even when times are good. But you love going off on these adventures.” The dark elf glanced over her shoulder. “Is Onmund alright, though? Sounds like he’s…groaning.”

Nikhaya paused and listened. “Ah, that. Onmund may have enjoyed himself a little too much.”

“Oh. Too much excitement on the way home?”

“You could put it like that.” Nikhaya pulled one of her boots on and picked up the other, then let it drop on the floor again. She collapsed on the bed next to Brelyna, legs and tail dangling over the side. “Ugh. This one is so _tired._ Why can’t Enthir wait until morning?” 

“He needs your help _again?_ But you just got back!”

“Mm. Tell him that, will you? He wants to see this one in the Archmage’s quarters. ‘As soon as you can manage it’, he said.” Nikhaya opened one eye and squinted at her friend. “Is it too late to pretend I have died in here?”

Brelyna chuckled. “No rest for the wicked.” She grasped Nikhaya by the hand and hauled her out of bed. “Come on, I’ll walk you up there. I have to return these books to the Arcaneum before Urag takes out a contract on my life for them.”

Nikhaya laughed and donned her hood. “That old orc just might do it, too. Here, give this one some of your books before your arms fall off.”

They walked out into the courtyard. The snow squall that had swallowed Nikhaya and Onmund as they rode into town had lightened into a quiet, feathery dusting, but this respite would be brief. The snow never truly stopped here. It simply took a deep breath and retrenched before the next onslaught, and the people of Winterhold did the same.

Brelyna glanced around them; no one was nearby. “I hope you can tell me, Nikhaya, because nobody else will. What’s really going on out there? All we’ve heard are wild stories about crazed necromancers and zombies going rogue.  _Eating_ people. We’re forbidden to leave the College after dark anymore, and we’re not allowed to leave Winterhold at all.”

“Wild stories are all we have at the moment. That, and a few chewed-up bodies.” Nikhaya sighed. “No one knows anything for sure. Perhaps Enthir can learn something from what we brought back.”

Brelyna shrugged. “I don’t know what Enthir expects to learn about zombies from a draugr. They’re not all that similar, when you get down to it.”

Nikhaya cast a sidelong glance at her friend. “How did you know it was a draugr?”

“Everyone knows. You didn’t think that was going to stay a secret with this undead panic going on, did you?”

“I suppose not.”

The iron gates outside the Hall of the Elements parted at their approach. Beyond the heavy doors, humming and spinning in a pool of arcane mist, the Eye of Magnus floated ponderously in midair. Pale blue tendrils of magicka rolled on its surface, casting a faint glow onto the ancient stone walls.

“I hate that thing,” Brelyna whispered, as though the Eye might overhear her and lash out. “I wish to the gods he'd just left it in Saarthal and slammed the door behind him. The Dragonborn, I mean.”

“You didn’t like him very much, then?”

“He abandoned us!” The Dunmer’s gray cheeks flushed a ruddy violet color, and Nikhaya could see the truth of the matter. Brelyna had liked him very much, once. “He pretended he was our friend until he got his hands on the Elder Scroll. That’s all he wanted. Then he just…walked out. When we needed him most. Not a word to anyone." The dark elf gazed out into the snowy wastes to the west. "He never came back.”

Nikhaya held her tongue. She hadn’t meant to dig at something so near Brelyna’s heart. She reached over and gave her friend’s shoulders a gentle squeeze.

“It’s alright.” Brelyna managed a smile. “It’s over and done with. Besides, you and Onmund are the best friends anyone could ask for.” They stopped outside the Arcaneum and Brelyna took her books back. “Go on, see what Enthir wants. And if you find out anything interesting, I want to hear, alright?”

“You will, dearest.” Nikhaya flashed her a parting grin and mounted the stairs to the Archmage’s quarters. She could hear the yelling from inside before she even reached the top.

_Oh. Wonderful._

“Wait!”

Nikhaya turned. Onmund was making his way up the stairs, swaying slightly with each step. He looked bleary-eyed and miserable.

“Onmund! What are you doing here?” Nikhaya reached out and gripped him by the hand. “You look awful.”

“Thanks.”

“Khajiit only meant you should be resting.” Nikhaya wrinkled her nose; he stank of ale and vomit. “Go on, Jo’mund, sleep this off. We can talk in the morning.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You can’t just leave me out of this, not now. I want to know what’s going on!”

“Fine, fine.” Nikhaya rolled her eyes. “Stubborn ass. Hold onto this one’s arm and pretend you are sober. Or as close as you can get. And let me do the talking, yes?”

She pushed the door open.

*******

“This is absurd!” Ancano stood in the center of the Archmage’s quarters, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. “I will not have my authority undermined-“

“You have no authority here!” Enthir pointed an accusatory finger in the Thalmor’s face. “You are here because the Archmage permits it, and this,” he gestured around them, “this is bigger than you, me, the College, all of us! And if you’ve troubled yourself to read the papers you pilfered from my quarters, you’d know-“

"Pilfered!" Ancano sputtered. “You  _dare_ to stand there and accuse me of-“

“Enough!” Savos Aren held up his hands. “Both of you! This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

The elves lapsed into strained silence as the door opened. Nikhaya entered, supporting a pale, wilting Onmund with both hands. She steered him toward a chair and dropped him into it.

Enthir frowned. “I told you to come alone. What’s Onmund doing here?”

“Onmund may stay. He helped her to bring back the draugr, after all.” Archmage Aren glanced at Nikhaya. “He knows everything already, I presume?”

“As much as this one knows herself.” She took a look around. Enthir stood among a cluster of tables, piled high with old books, soul gems, and a few strange-looking devices that Nikhaya had never seen before. Nikhaya was no master wizard, but it all _looked_ impressively arcane.

A complicated-looking golden rune had been cast on the floor in the corner. Inside it, the draugr hovered a few inches in the air, immobile. Its arms were folded over its chest, as though it lay in its coffin.

“So.” Nikhaya sat on a corner of one table and met Enthir's scowl of disapproval with a toothy grin. “Have you learned anything new since we left on our draugr hunt?”

“Nothing substantial yet. But perhaps our new friend here can tell us more in time.” Enthir rubbed his forehead as if it pained him. “No new attacks, as far as we know. The Nightgate Inn is permanently closed after the...incident. Windhelm has locked its doors after that stable hand was killed. I fear Riften will do the same soon.”

Onmund looked up. “What happened at the Nightgate Inn?”

“What do you _think_ happened, Onmund? A guard on his rounds noticed the front door of the inn was hanging open to the cold, so he went inside to investigate and found them all dead...the innkeeper, the bard, every last one of them, chewed up. By the time he came back with reinforcements, there was nothing left. Just blood, and bloody footprints.”

“Shor’s bones,” Onmund murmured. “How many of these monsters _are_ there?”

“We don’t know.” With careful fingers, Enthir adjusted one of the bizarre instruments on his table. It began to hum quietly, and the rune beneath the resting draugr glowed faintly purple. “I’ll be frank with you; this isn’t like any necromantic ritual I know of. But it is magic, highly advanced magic, and magic doesn’t just happen. Someone, somewhere, set this in motion, and we need to learn how it began.”

Ancano sniffed. “If none of your mages are responsible for the rogue undead, I don’t see why the College needs to bear the burden of this research. With your limited resources, surely you have more important projects..?“

“It doesn’t matter if we’re responsible or not,” Onmund muttered darkly. “All of Skyrim will blame us anyway, won't they?”

“I'm afraid they will.” Savos sat down at his desk. He looked weary, as if he’d gone without sleep for some time. “Magic and those who practice it aren’t lauded or trusted in Skyrim, Ancano, as you yourself must already know. We shoulder a great deal of blame that doesn’t rightfully belong to us. If this situation gets out of hand…” He hesitated, glancing at Nikhaya and Onmund. “But even if we are not the cause, we may still be the solution. And so we must not be idle.”

An uneasy silence hung in the air. Nikhaya looked questioningly at Enthir. “You asked to see this one, did you not?

“Yes. I did, but…” Enthir hesitated. “With the way things are, I have no right to ask you to leave the College on my behalf again. And if you’d rather not, I will understand wholeheartedly.”

She gave him a wolfish grin. “You know me better than that, yes? What do you need?”

“I need someone to retrieve something from my home in Riften. I have quarters on the pier, near Elgrim’s Elixirs. Do you know it?”

She nodded. “This one knows Riften very well.”  _And you know that, elf. But Jone and Jode bless you for pretending you don’t._

“In my study, on the shelf above my desk, you’ll find two leatherbound tomes with blank covers. They contain research notes which could prove invaluable to me here. I would compensate you for the long journey, of course, but the danger-“

Nikhaya waved a dismissive hand. “Skyrim is dangerous at the best of times. And this one is no fresh-faced kit. She can look after herself, and anyone else who comes along. Right?” She winked at Onmund, who blushed and took a sudden interest in the toes of his boots.

Enthir shook his head. “No, not again. Not Onmund.”

“What?” Onmund's eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“Because it’s dangerous, Onmund. I know how fond you Nords are of Sovngarde, but I’d rather you not send yourself there just yet.”

“So you don't trust me. Is that it?”

Enthir sighed. “This isn’t about trust. Onmund…how do I say this? You’re not the adventuring type. You’re an inexperienced mage from a farming village in the mountains. I ask Nikhaya for help because I’ve known her for years, long before she was an apprentice here, and I’ve seen with my own eyes that she can handle herself. These undead aren’t the only danger…if they don’t get you, then bandits, wild animals, or this gods-forsaken Skyrim weather will.”

Onmund gave Nikhaya a curious glance, but he made no retort. He simply leaned back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, and looked daggers at Enthir.

Enthir beckoned Nikhaya away from the others. He pressed a key into her palm. “I know lock picking is your specialty, but kindly use this to get into my house, will you? And I realize that I can’t actually stop Onmund from tagging along with you, but if he does…take care of him, alright? We need him.”

_Need him?_ Nikhaya opened her mouth to ask, but Enthir shook his head. She tucked the key into her pocket. “This one understands. Is there anything else?”

“Nothing, except my sincere gratitude. Go on, get some rest.”

The door had barely closed behind them before Onmund opened his mouth.

“That damned wood elf! Who does he think he is? What does he even do here?!”

“Hush.” Nikhaya squeezed his arm as they descended the stairs, needling him lightly with her claws for emphasis. “We are supposed to keep this quiet, remember?”

“I know, I know. But I don’t care what Enthir says. I’m coming with you to Riften.” Onmund paused and cast a sidelong glance at Nikhaya. “If you want me along, that is. Enthir’s right about that much, I guess. I...I’m not much of a warrior. Or a mage, yet.”

“Don’t be silly. Of course this one wants you along. We are sort of partners now, after all.”

“We are?” Onmund considered this a moment. A faint boyish smile appeared on his lips. “Alright, then. Partners.” He pushed the door open ahead of them and held it for her.

“You there.”

They turned. Ancano stood behind them, one slender hand gripping the doorframe. It was hard to tell with high elves, but Nikhaya thought he looked rather pale.

“Nikhaya, isn't it? We must speak.” The Thalmor looked pointedly at Onmund. “Alone, if you please.”

Nikhaya put on her most benevolent smile. She patted Onmund’s arm. “Go up to bed. We will talk more in the morning.”

Onmund looked doubtful, but to Nikhaya’s relief, he simply nodded and walked on without her.

“And so we are alone, at your insistence.” She stifled a yawn; the long journey and the late hour were beginning to take their toll on her. “Beg pardon, it has been a trying day. What can this one do for you?”

“Well…” Ancano hesitated. Clearly whatever was about to tell her did not come naturally to him. “I would ask a favor of you,” he said at last.

“A favor?” This was not what she had expected. “Khajiit will help you, if she can. What do you need?”

“This.” Ancano handed her a folded piece of paper. “I would be grateful if you would visit the alchemist in Riften and obtain these items for me while you are there.”

Nikhaya unfolded the paper. It was not a long list. But the ingredients he had written down, in those specific quantities… She fixed him with a questioning look.

“Is there a problem?” His expression betrayed nothing. “There’s nothing on that list to arouse suspicion, surely.”

“No. As you say, there is nothing suspicious. It is only…” Nikhaya folded the list again and slipped it into her pocket. “This one is a mage now, as you see, but Nikhaya has been a maker of potions and poisons since she was a child. In her younger days, she was apprenticed to an alchemist in Cheydinhal. So…she knows what such ingredients are for.” As little as she cared for Ancano, in this moment her heart pitied him. “You are not well. ”

Ancano grimaced. “That is not your concern. I’m simply asking you to procure a few ingredients for me. But as you’ve comprehended my difficulty…no, if you must know, I am not well. These potions will not cure me, I am aware of that, but they will sustain me while I seek a more…permanent solution.”

“They should, yes.” It was all starting to make sense; his pallor, the spells of weakness that sometimes kept him confined to his quarters, the slight tremor in his hands that he believed he had concealed from everyone. Nikhaya laid a hand on Ancano’s sleeve. “This one will get what you need,” she assured him.

He held out his hand. A pouch of gently clinking gold pieces rested in his palm. “I trust you’ll find this sufficient. For the ingredients, and for your discretion.”

Nikhaya shook her head. She reached into the pouch, counted out a handful of coins, and returned the rest to him. “Khajiit will purchase what you need in Riften, but this one’s honor does not need to be bought. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Such a noble sentiment. Almost Nordic.” He shook his head. “For a Khajiit, you’re a peculiar specimen.”

She chuckled. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“It was an observation.” A flicker of a smile appeared on his thin lips and vanished as quickly as it came.

The courtyard was empty, so they walked on together in silence. Snow was falling again in earnest, melting on their cheeks and clinging to their robes in white clusters.

They had almost reached the Hall of Attainment when they heard it. It echoed shrilly through the black night and then died away, leaving only the breath of the wind and the hush of snow falling around them.

It had sounded very much like a scream.

 


End file.
